Telling Ourselves Our Own Story

I confess to being suspicious of ladies’ meetings. It harks back to when I first became a member of a charismatic church. I wasn’t married. I didn’t have children. There were few ladies in the church at the time who were working. Stay-at-home-mums was the order of the day. If they had bible studies, they were in an afternoon while the children were at school or nursery. Working full-time I felt I was a different species. I also felt mildly that I was somehow letting the side down.

I moved to another town and to another church. Another ladies meeting and, again, this steering of women towards husbands, children and home making. Much was said about roles and functions of men and women. I still wasn’t married. I still didn’t have children. I seem to vaguely remember the study “Excelling as a Woman”. I think I chose to opt out.

When I had the invitation to join a group of ladies from the church to meet regularly and to share life and learning with them, I hesitated. I am a happy loner, girl with strong hermit genes, but I know that I have a reservoir of knowledge and experience that is not mine to hold on to.

The Diamond's Box is organised by Destiny Church. There’s a book to read, daily studies to do and other bits and pieces. There’s tea to be drunk, biscuits to eat and lots of chatting. The tea I can do, the biscuits I’m trying to leave alone, And the chat? I take a while to warm up.

We had just been given the books, so no one was expecting us to dive into them. We spent the time chatting about all sorts of things. It was all about bridge building. We were committing to building friendships and speaking truth to one another. You have to start somewhere.

Different ages, different personalities, different life experiences – we were a mixed bunch of ladies, who in all likelihood, in natural, might not strike up friendships.

We talked about miracles giving our own examples of the provision of God. I need more ammunition if that topic comes up again. There was provision for a family’s first Christmas in the UK, a house buying miracle, a daily provision for a lady who has nothing, an apparent step backwards that wasn’t really, an afternoon spent speaking in tongues leading to a deeper sense of God’s presence and so on.

What was so important about telling each other our stories was not actually about telling each other at all – it was about telling ourselves our own story. Stories that don’t get told get forgotten all together. As I shared how I was able to go to my sister’s wedding ad all the details of booking a flight when I had no money, trusting God would supply – I remembered. Something in me said, “Oh, yes. I remember now.” Faith was stirred.

We must speak our own story first to ourselves before we begin to speak to others. We need to remember and remind ourselves of how good God has been to us. Then we can tell others.